


to the nourishment of our bodies

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Dominant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Food Kink, Kink Negotiation, Kinkster Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 09:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Aziraphale has a bite to eat, or maybe several.





	to the nourishment of our bodies

There were certain expectations about angels. They traded on being untouchable, radiant beings, so pure that being virginal went without question. This was still the stereotype despite how many pieces of art with naked people they'd inspired, how much of religious rapture was really just guilt-free sensual pleasure. Most of the angels themselves believed this rhetoric, holding themselves apart from worldly delights, particularly ones that went beyond procreative sex between married people.

So, just as he was the only dancer, Aziraphale was the only angel that would admit he was kinky.

Kink was extraordinary. Humans had taken sex, which God created, shame, which was Hell's fault, and imagination, which happened sui generis, and they'd mixed it up in a big pitcher and poured out kink. It was such a human art form, something that couldn't have come about any other way; some of it rivaled Hell but some of it was nearly divine, just like everything humans did to each other.

Consequently, Aziraphale loved kink. He'd been delighted when someone came up with a word for it; people had been doing it for a long time before that, under a variety of headings, but it meant something to give it a name. It gave people something to embrace, an identity to grow into, and Aziraphale slotted himself into it right alongside them.

Crowley was, frankly, perplexed by this, but when Aziraphale brought the subject up, he hadn't objected. By now Aziraphale had seen Crowley in vinyl, which looked very nice on him; he'd been strapped to the headboard at least twice, once with Crowley standing over him done up as Nanny Ashtoreth and holding a tawse. There was also that time where Aziraphale had gotten demanding over the size of Crowley's, well, endowment and ended up having to do a miracle in order to walk the next day. Oh, and the time Aziraphale found out you could buy rubber gloves that came up to your elbow and-

The point was, if there was any lack of creativity in their sex life, it couldn't be said to have been coming from Aziraphale.

Crowley was a different story. Aziraphale initially thought Crowley didn't want sex, because Crowley hadn't made any overtures. That got them stuck in an odd holding pattern for a few weeks; they never got past, as the Americans said, second base, even though Aziraphale would have been happy to slide home. After that, he'd always let Aziraphale take the lead, waiting for assignment instead of venturing his own ideas.

Aziraphale had his suspicions as to why Crowley wasn't forthcoming with ideas. Crowley was rather more submissive than Aziraphale, which was fine; being on top was not, in Aziraphale's estimation, the least bit onerous. He was just afraid that Crowley equated being on the bottom to not being able to have an opinion. He feared many other things, like Crowley thinking wanting to do things made him look like he didn't love Aziraphale, or Crowley not wanting to get hurt by Aziraphale's rejection. Crowley was hiding from him, and that was a thing Aziraphale never wanted.

But as much as Aziraphale liked kink, he liked Crowley more. If Crowley decided that he wanted to spend the rest of eternity coupling in the missionary position with the lights off, or even if he didn't want sex or anything deviant ever again, that's what Aziraphale would do, because nothing mattered as much as Crowley.

"You do understand that you could tell me anything you wanted to do, don't you, my love?" Aziraphale said one night as they lay in the afterglow, even though he knew it would start the argument again.

"How many times are you going to say that to me?" Aziraphale knew Crowley knew the answer was "until you fess up", so he didn't answer.

"I know you," Aziraphale said gently, instead of "You're hiding something," which was a bit more threatening. "It is impossible that you could say something that I wouldn't do for you."

Crowley didn't speak for a long time, enough that Aziraphale had given up, running his finger in idle patterns on Crowley's shoulder instead.

"I like watching you eat," Crowley finally mumbled, quietly enough that Aziraphale almost had to ask him to repeat it.

"I know," Aziraphale said, a bit confused at the non sequitur.

"You don't," Crowley said stubbornly, lifting his head to look at Aziraphale. "I _really_ like watching you eat."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "Like stuffing?"

"How do you-" Crowley said, bewildered. "No, not like stuffing. The quantity's unimportant." He lay back down again, looking at the ceiling. "I like how much you savor every bite. I like how your face looks. I like the noises you make when it's really good." He sighed. "I especially like the noises."

"Well, what do you propose to do about it?" Aziraphale said. "Do you want to watch and touch yourself?"

"I want to watch and touch _you_," Crowley said. "Or maybe just listen while I touch you. I haven't worked out the mechanics." He shut his eyes. "When you're really into it, I constantly think about getting under the table and sucking you off."

"That seems like a missed opportunity," Aziraphale said. "Wouldn't you rather have something to eat too?" He smiled in satisfaction; dirty wordplay was an art, and Crowley's gobsmacked expression was a delight.

"You are a singular creation, angel," Crowley said, though it sounded strained.

"I think you should choose what I eat," Aziraphale said.

"Are you sure?" Crowley said, though he looked eager. "What if I choose something you don't like?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Aziraphale said. "You know all my favorite foods by now. I don't know what you find particularly entrancing." He ran his hand over Crowley's hair. "This isn't for me. It's just for you. Don't worry about whether I'll like what you pick, because you know I will. I want you to choose whatever it is that you love to watch me eat, and I'll eat every bite of it."

Crowley tackled him onto the bed, and food didn't come up again for a while.

Not too many days later, Aziraphale waited in the shop, arranging things just so, eagerly anticipating Crowley's arrival. He'd been able to wrangle a few more helpful suggestions from Crowley; he was not to look down at Crowley, but he was encouraged to provide commentary on how much he was enjoying the food. He was also not to fake it, which he intended to abide by. He knew Crowley would know, and disappointing him with this was too much. He'd been so brave, and Aziraphale could only possibly respond by making it exactly what he wanted.

Crowley turned up awkwardly carrying two large insulated bags, one red and one blue. "Give us a hand, angel," he said, foisting one off on Aziraphale.

"This way to your table," Aziraphale said, holding an arm out- but only briefly, because he almost fumbled the bag.

Crowley had chosen the setup, a cafe table in a corner of the shop; Aziraphale, just to be silly, gave it a flower in a bud vase and one of those battery-operated candles Crowley had told him about. The chair did not go with the table at all, being too large and plush, but this passed without comment.

Aziraphale watched the small table fill up with boxes. "If I eat all of this, it really will be stuffing."

"You don't have to eat it all or try everything," Crowley said. "Just eat what you like." He looked at the table with a frown, then made an impatient gesture; the food obediently put itself on plates, modern-looking black ones with red and yellow trim. "Before you ask, you know that sushi doesn't travel well enough to be worth it."

Aziraphale resolutely didn't sigh. He did love it so, but Crowley wasn't wrong. He also suspected that Crowley was a bit jealous of Aziraphale's favorite sushi chef, but given the kinds of noises Aziraphale made eating his creations, right in front of him, Aziraphale understood. He just went out for sushi whenever Crowley wasn't around.

Crowley adjusted the plates according to some plan only he knew; he seemed satisfied. "Sit," he told Aziraphale, who did as he was told. Crowley picked up the napkin, flicking it open, and tucked it into Aziraphale's collar. Then he proceeded to get under the table, pushing Aziraphale's chair back a bit, enough so he could look up at Aziraphale's face.

"Bon appetit," he said from under the table.

Aziraphale steepled his fingers, tapping his fingertips together. "Oh, where shall I begin?" 

It was a valid question; it would have been easier if Crowley had brought him dinner, but Crowley had brought him an assortment of unrelated foods. These ranged from potstickers to panna cotta to a large sandwich. He mentally sorted it into vaguely appetizers, vaguely entrees, and definitely desserts, then selected among the first category to begin.

He started off with a samosa, taking a small bite just to check; as was a common worry with samosas, it was underspiced, so he set it to one side and didn't let on that he'd tried it. The potstickers had promise, but he was more interested in the bowl of what appeared to be tom kha kai. The bowl sat on a saucer, and he picked them both up, holding it in front of him to take in the scent.

"Oh yes, this will do nicely," Aziraphale said, putting it down on the table.

The soup was still gently steaming; Aziraphale was fairly sure everything was going to be the perfect temperature, because Crowley hadn't given it the choice not to be. Crowley had not, however, provided an appropriate spoon, but that was only a minor miracle away. The rich soup coated the spoon just so, and Aziraphale lifted it to his lips, sipping delicately.

"Mmm," Aziraphale said, a vocalization which was, as Crowley requested, genuine. "The galangal comes through quite strongly, which is not a complaint." He felt Crowley's hands on his thighs, and he could just picture how Crowley was looking up at him. He lifted the spoon again, having another taste; it was no less delicious on the second mouthful.

Crowley's hands were sliding up his thighs, but then they slid down again; Aziraphale couldn't decide if it was deliberate teasing or not. He chose not to investigate it any further. He was supposed to be barely noticing Crowley was there, after all, not questioning his motives.

Regrettably, tom kha kai was very filling, and if he ate the whole bowl, he'd never get around to trying everything else. He had one more spoonful and then moved it out of his way, looking for his next target.

There was watermelon and tomato salad from that new place Aziraphale liked, and it was the perfect palate cleanser, bright on his tongue; Aziraphale had given up on the idea of any of this food going together in any sense, but he honestly didn't mind that. The only reason he didn't frequently eat several types of food in one meal was the logistics of the matter, and Crowley had solved that issue neatly.

"I don't know how it stays so crisp," Aziraphale said, popping another piece of watermelon in his mouth and making an appreciative noise. Crowley's hands squeezed his thighs briefly, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to touch him.

Aziraphale grazed a bit on the other offerings; the potstickers were indeed good, but one had been enough for a taste. He had a piece or two of fritto misto, but he was craving a little something more substantial. He was also craving a bit more of Crowley, who'd only gone so far as his upper thighs. Perhaps he could solve both those problems if he was a bit strategic.

The biggest dish on the table held duck confit. Aziraphale didn't know how Crowley had convinced anyone to give him something like that to go, but money was never an object with Crowley. It wasn't important; what was important was getting one of the thighs onto his plate and into his mouth.

Aziraphale took a bite of the duck, savoring the feeling of it on his tongue; he managed to finish chewing and swallow before moaning aloud. "That is exquisite," he said, getting another bite, the meat so tender that he didn't even need a knife. "Oh, that really is something special."

He'd been making no attempt whatsoever to hold back on any of the noises he was making; in fact, he'd been trying to amplify them, so that Crowley could get a good earful. The duck was on a different level, and so were Aziraphale's vocalizations. He couldn't help it. The dish was involved but not complicated, but it had been so expertly executed as to be perfection itself.

Under the table, Crowley made a frustrated noise, and Aziraphale was suddenly wearing a skirt. He frowned at this inexplicable wardrobe change until Crowley pulled him forward, leaving him at the edge of his seat, and spread his legs apart. Aziraphale thought he might dive right in, but instead Crowley kissed the inside of his knee. He didn't stop there, kissing and sucking up the inside of Aziraphale's thigh.

"Don't stop," Crowley said, somewhat muffled, and Aziraphale realized he was holding his fork motionless in midair, a piece of duck still on it. He did what any sensible person would do; he ate the duck.

He actually ate most of the piece of duck, still opining about how good it was, though more than a little of it was appreciation for what Crowley was doing with his mouth. But Crowley, damn him, hadn't moved it where Aziraphale really wanted it. Clearly he was going to have to do something to spur Crowley on.

"I think it's time for dessert," Aziraphale said, putting the duck aside. Crowley had given him several delicious looking options. He passed over the chocolate terrine, which was doubtlessly wonderful but sounded too rich after the duck. Apple crumble just wasn't what he was after. He admittedly did pick off a layer of the baklava and eat it, though it was a messy process. The choice was obvious: the simple but luscious-looking panna cotta that waited innocuously at the edge of the table.

Crowley had stopped his movements, his breath hot on Aziraphale's thigh while he waited for what Aziraphale would do. Aziraphale set the dessert down in front of himself, taking a brief moment to admire it before putting his spoon into it; it slid through beautifully, and he raised it to his lips.

The flavor bloomed in his mouth, vanilla and rose, unexpected. "Oh," Aziraphale said. "Oh, now this is delectable." He was just about to put another bite in his mouth when Crowley fairly attacked him, sucking Aziraphale's clit into his mouth without so much as a by-your-leave. Aziraphale gasped, his free hand finding the back of Crowley's head.

Aziraphale looked at the spoon still in his hand, struck with indecision; Crowley wouldn't know if he just stopped eating, not able to see him. On the other hand, they had come this far, and the panna cotta was very, very good. He put the spoon in his mouth, savoring the smooth, creamy texture, the way it coated his tongue. 

He felt caught between the two sensations, and it occurred to him that it was probably the most purely hedonistic thing he'd done in his long life. It felt decadent, indulgent, in a way that was extremely appealing. He stroked Crowley's hair and took another bite, sliding down even farther in his chair to give Crowley more room.

Crowley didn't falter for an instant, just kept working Aziraphale over with his mouth and tongue and fingers, and soon Aziraphale had no idea whether he was moaning over the food or Crowley. The difference was immaterial, when the two of them together were so good, playing off one another. Aziraphale didn't know whether he'd run out of panna cotta or come first, but then there was the terrine, and the baklava, and he could really do this all day if afforded the option.

This was all for Crowley, something Aziraphale hadn't lost sight of; Crowley was making it perfectly clear how much he wanted this. His mouth never stopped for an instant, devouring Aziraphale like he was better than all of it, the most delicious dish that had ever been devised, like he needed Aziraphale to live.

Aziraphale came with the spoon clutched tightly in his hand, the taste of rose on his tongue. 

"Get up here, darling," Aziraphale said, when he remembered how words worked again, and Crowley got out from under the table, unfolding himself and standing shakily. The front of his trousers were distended, and Aziraphale must have been fairly obvious in how he looked at them.

"I didn't mean to, you know, make the effort," Crowley muttered, looking uncomfortable. "This was supposed to be about you. It just ha-"

Crowley didn't finish his statement because Aziraphale miracled all his clothes away and swallowed his cock. He made a startled noise and grabbed the back of Aziraphale's head; he came almost immediately, which Aziraphale considered not a failure on Crowley's part, but a job well done on his own.

When Crowley looked like he'd recovered a bit, Aziraphale pulled him into his lap, sideways across it.

"It wasn't supposed to be about me," Aziraphale said. "It was supposed to be about you." He petted Crowley's thigh soothingly. "I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"That was something else, angel," Crowley said, sounding a little dazed. "I don't know how you felt about it, but I enjoyed every bite."

"Then I hope this will inspire you to tell me what you want in the future," Aziraphale said.

"Only you would think of it like that," Crowley said. "But I'm thinking about it. I just-" He sighed. "I suppose I just worry."

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand, kissing the back of it. "And I will be here to allay those fears at every turn," he said. "Trust me. I trust you."

Crowley didn't respond, but that was alright. He ran his fingers idly through Aziraphale's hair, which felt very nice; Crowley was fascinated by how soft it was, which was fine with Aziraphale. It was nice to recover in each other's arms, maybe one of the nicest parts of the whole enterprise. 

Aziraphale sighed. "It's a good thing I'm ethereal, or I would have the oddest indigestion."

"I'd bring you-" Crowley started, but he paused, frowning. "What do people take for indigestion? There must be something."

"If you'd asked me two hundred years ago, I could have told you," Aziraphale said.

"Two hundred years ago it would have been bloodletting," Crowley said.

"Well, you're not wrong," Aziraphale said, hugging him closer and kissing him.

He didn't taste like roses or duck fat or galangal, but he was still good enough to eat.

\--

They sat at a little bistro Aziraphale frequented, one with a very decent steak au poivre, which Aziraphale was currently eating. Crowley was drinking his third beer, because it was two in the afternoon and day drinking was a delightful sport.

Aziraphale paused the story he was telling to take another bite of steak, a piece from the middle that was cooked just how he wanted it. "Mmm," he said without thinking about it. "Now that is scrumptious."

Crowley crossed his legs; he was trying to be subtle, bless him, but it made Aziraphale grin. One might have even considered it a smirk.

Aziraphale took another bite and sighed. "You're awful," Crowley said. "Just the worst. I don't know why I hang around with such a mean angel."

"I'm ordering sorbet," Aziraphale said. "They have a lovely strawberry basil this time of year." Crowley glared at him, but Aziraphale just grinned wider.

What was the good of a kink if you couldn't exploit it?


End file.
